Cait and the Devil (2 page)

While he wasn’t as dark and devilish looking as
Lochlan
expected, he was certainly angry. He feared the earl would toss him into that very sea before his message was fully told.

“The king has discovered a...lost daughter,”
Lochlan
said delicately. “He finds her an inconvenience at court, and wishes her to be married at once. To you, my lord,” he added. “And she arrives this night.”

Duncan sat a long time, his face darkening more with each passing moment.

“Connor, what do you make of this?” he finally murmured to the man on his right.

“I think you are about to become a bridegroom, my friend.”

“I do not wish it. I would rather send her back.”

The messenger raised his eyebrows in alarm. “My lord, the king commands—”

“Yes, the king commands me as he commands every Scotsman, but if he wants to know if I welcome his bastard as my wife, the answer is no. How old is she?”

“Uh, hmm...I know not exactly,” said the messenger.
“Of an age to be wed.”

“Well, that’s something. What else does the king request?”

“That is all, my lord.
Just proof of a marriage to be conveyed back to him.”

“Proof?”
The Devil frowned. “What kind of proof?”

Lochlan
blushed. “I believe a signed document will suffice. Have you a priest in your keep?”

“There is one in town proper.” He nodded to his man, who stood and had some quick words with a servant by the door. He turned back to the still-reddening messenger. “And you will wait here for this document?”

“I am ordered to do so, my lord.”

“Well,” said Duncan, his lip curling distastefully. “We must all do as we are ordered, must we not?”

* * * * *

Duncan strode through the corridor cursing under his breath. His servants and men-at-arms all wisely stood clear. By God, he wanted to take somebody’s head off.
Again, a wife.
His last one had nearly driven him insane.

Duncan was not a god-fearing man. In fact, there was very little in life that Duncan feared, but by some cruel joke of the universe, or the king more like, he had found himself wed to the most insufferably religious shrew in Scotland.
Judgmental, obsessive, ridiculously stupid.
It was cruel of
him,
perhaps, to still regard her that way even after she’d died trying to bear his child. But Lenore had been a demon sent to torment him, perhaps from the devil himself.

She’d been beautiful enough on the outside—blonde like sunshine, with wide green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. She’d smiled at him the day of their marriage and been the most biddable of brides until he’d taken her to his bed. From that moment she’d turned against him and nothing, nothing he did or said to her could have turned her back. It wasn’t as if he’d been cruel to her, as if he’d done anything that first night any man wouldn’t have done to his wife. She called him
coarse
, and
lowborn
, and
degenerate
, any insult at all that she thought might keep him away. But he used her anyway, as any man would have, not even exposing her to his coarser desires.

Finally he managed to get her with child, and ceased performing his husbandly duties with her. Instead he found relief with the odd widow in the town only too happy to share
herself
for a bit of coin. Now, even that was taken from him. No woman would come near him with a moniker like
Devil
attached to his name.
Attached forever to him, thanks to her and her shrewish screaming even in the throes of death.

She had died yowling and cursing him so the whole town could hear it.
Devil, you’re the devil! Get away! Get away from me!
she’d
shrieked with the last of her breath.
Black hearted, evil devil!
She had raved on and on as the last moments of her life bled away. He’d been nowhere near, but he’d heard her screams. He’d heard her accusations against him just as everyone else in the town had, and so now that was his name.
Devil.
Deserved or not. He had buried the baby boy and his wife the next morning with an honor and reverence he did not feel.

Devil.
She hadn’t known the half of it. There was a side to him Lenore hadn’t even seen, a side that would have sent her running home in hysterics to her father. Perhaps he should have shown it. Perhaps then she would still be alive.

He shoved thoughts of Lenore from his head and put his mind to his current problem.
A bride, this night, and a priest on the way.
A wedding to be performed and a document to be signed and delivered in good haste back to the king. He didn’t want the king’s oily messenger and contingent here any longer than they needed to be. He had a deep distrust of the king’s court and all who moved in it.

This wife on the way to him raised his suspicions too. He’d not once heard even a whisper of a bastard daughter to the king. Perhaps that was by intention, which made him wonder who the mother was. He would question this daughter when she
arrived,
question her thoroughly before they wed. He would not be a party to any intrigue or strangeness. He was just a simple man who wanted to be left alone, who fulfilled his duties to the king and took good care of his townspeople. Yes, he would sit her down when she arrived and get to the bottom of things before he again took on the plague of a wife.

“Duncan,” called Connor from the end of the corridor. “They’ve arrived. They are in the courtyard.”

“Tell them to wait.”

Duncan put on a fine black velvet
surcoat
.
Pure vanity.
But to meet a wife, even an unwanted one, a little vanity was allowed. He armed himself and strode back down the hall to the main entrance. He marched out the door as if going to battle and came to a sudden halt. His eyes swept the small assembly of rough-edged soldiers. He felt intense, inexplicable anger. Was his new wife so poorly regarded that she’d be sent across Scotland protected like this? He knew the low respect afforded to bastards, had lived with it his whole life, but it still provoked him to see it applied to someone who was to be his wife.

His stormy gaze swept over the small party and then back again. His anger was replaced by confusion. She wasn’t even there. They hadn’t even brought her as the messenger said.

But no, she
was
there. His eyes found her as one of the king’s men helped her from her horse. She swayed on her legs as if she might collapse. Her shoulders slumped and she was covered head to toe in grime and dust. A fit sight for a princess, even if she was a bastard one. If that could even possibly be her—she looked nothing at all
like
the king. But yes, perhaps in the shape of the eyes, the slant of the forehead. His gaze narrowed in distaste.
Of an age to marry?
If she was twelve years old he would be shocked. No matter. He had no intention of bedding her anyway. Not now, not ever.

“Bring her inside,” he said brusquely before turning his back on her and walking away.

* * * * *

Cait
tried to swallow the knot in her throat, tried to will the tears from her eyes. She would not let him see her cry. She didn’t want him to know how his cool dismissal hurt her. She let the king’s soldier take her horse while she tried to find her land legs. No one else came to greet her in the gathering darkness.

And he was not old, no. He was not old at all, although white could certainly describe the pale blond color of his hair. He was quite young and strong, and
hale
enough to do her great harm if he wished it. From the look on his face, he wished it very much. He had scowled at her like he was the devil himself. She shuddered, remembering the coldness of his gaze.

He had looked at her in disbelief, as if she were so vile he could barely stand to look upon her, then turned from her and stalked away as if she meant nothing to him at all. She was unwanted by him just as she was unwanted by her father and everyone else.

At last an old woman came forward to herd her into the castle.
So much for a cottage.
The height of the great keep soared above her head, up over the banks of the firth, the pocked stone walls grey and bleak. The doors shut behind her with a crash and she blinked to adjust to the darkness. She heard his voice just a few feet away.

“The priest comes soon, Henna. Clean the girl up as much as you can. And if you would,” he added with barely veiled distaste, “be sure there are no lice.”

Cait
was pained by the indignity of her situation. She knew she must look a sight after days on the dusty roads with no bath.

“Yes, I will, my lord. Every girl should be clean when she’s wed.
What’s
your name, then, lass?” the old woman asked
Cait
. She was a plump, cheerful matron with a broad smiling face and small but friendly eyes.
Cait
tried to smile back at her.

“Caitlyn.
Cait
,” she finally managed to say.

The woman nodded and patted her arm. “Her name is Caitlyn, my lord,” she said loudly to the earl. “You can call her
Cait
as well, can’t he, lass?”

“Yes, ma’am” she whispered, daring a glance up at the Devil. He looked strangely chastised by the old woman’s tone.

“When
Caitlyn
is ready, bring her to the Great Hall,” he said quietly.

Unwanted or not.

Chapter Two

“There now, lass,” said the old woman as she huffed and puffed her bulk down the corridor next to
Cait
. “We’ll get that dirt and grime off
ya
and have
ya
good as new for your wedding. It won’t do at all to get married when you’re a mess, now
will
it?”

“No, ma’am,” said
Cait
tiredly. What she really wanted to do was find a nice warm bed to sleep in and call it a night.

Henna led her to a small room off the kitchen.
Cait
wandered through the hustle and bustle of servants and cooks and children, feeling dazed by all the activity. The keep, while large and forbidding, was also teeming with life. The smells of delicious food wafted in the air, making her stomach growl loudly enough for the old woman to hear.

“Oh now, we’ll have some food for you too, lass. You’re hungry, aren’t you? Had dinner yet?”

“No, ma’am,” said
Cait
. “I’m awfully hungry. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“Sorry for what? We feed hungry mouths here. The earl insists on it,” she laughed. “Now what would you like to tide you over to dinner? Bit o’ bread or cheese, or maybe a fresh apple?”

“Some bread would be good.
And something to drink too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re parched.
Where’s my manners
? I’ll set them to warming the water and let you eat while you soak in the tub. Go on. Go on, I’ll help
ya
.”

She pushed
Cait
into a small room. She stood aside as an army of servants came in carrying buckets of hot water to pour into a large tub in the corner.
Cait
eyed it in wonder. It was made for a giant. For
him
, she supposed. Henna returned with a large mug of fresh ale and a plate of bread, fruit, and cheese.
Cait
drained the mug and tried not to eat too eagerly. It was hard though. She was so hungry.

“Take your time, girl,” said the old woman. “You can eat ‘til you’re full. There’s plenty more than that if you want it. You’ll need your energy for tonight, won’t
ya
, lass?” she said with a mischievous wink.